


some people get a freak out of me

by attaboytrevor



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Fluff, M/M, just a couple of skeptical ghost hunting boys, not actually paranormal/supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attaboytrevor/pseuds/attaboytrevor
Summary: It's not that Jeremy really believes in the paranormal any more than Trevor does; it's just that he's apparently the only one of them with any self-preservation instincts. He's just not ruling out the existence of ghosts, so it's reasonable to be a little more on edge when Trevor's busy harassing the supernatural. He's not really scared. Honestly.Well, maybe a bit spooked.Possibly.





	some people get a freak out of me

**Author's Note:**

> vaguely inspired by buzzfeed unsolved and 90% inspired just by the sentence "hey demons, it's me, ya boi". the other 10% is probably height difference.
> 
> also, please read [these](http://juggey.tumblr.com/post/164470545868/so-i-see-you-like-buzzfeed-unsolved-what-do-you) [tumblr](http://juggey.tumblr.com/post/164640793723/in-this-au-jeremy-would-be-super-careful-with) [posts](http://juggey.tumblr.com/post/164641194723/uh-so-more-unsolved-au-if-thats-okay-one-night) that showed up on my dash halfway through writing this and subsequently ruined my life.

"We’re back, bringing you even _less_ evidence of the paranormal than anyone else before us."

"We bring them plenty of evidence!"

"You bring them evidence of how scared you are of everything, not evidence of ghosts."

Jeremy rolled his eyes (doing his best to disguise his smile) and dove into the history of their newest case.

 

It was a typical  _murder haunted ghost demon_  house- family murdered, mysterious happenings, eerie noises. Worn photos of a dilapidated two story house, shots of rooms somewhere between lived in and died in, images of a home left to disrepair. An image of a family of four smiling outside their brand-new house flashed by, a contrast to what became of both.

People had come and gone from its walls- mostly gone. A newly married couple bailed after the specter hanging over them became too much, a family left after their youngest's imagination bordered too closely on the creepy:

"He had an imaginary murder friend with the same name as the dead kid?" 

"Yep." 

"Kids are the real spooky ones." 

"True. Ghosts aren't shit compared to five year olds."

The last residents had lived there in the early 2000s, shaky camcorder footage of "proof" all that existed. A shadowed apparition in the background of a home video, moving objects caught on camera. 

"Okay, rocket scientist. Explain that flying shit."

"Uh, fuckin- lift coefficient. Bernoulli's principle."

"Shut the fuck up."

 

Naturally, they went to visit. 

It seemed like a normal enough house in the dusk. Its clapboards were peeling paint, the windows were alternately boarded up and backed by wispy curtains, the yard was overgrown. More than anything, it just looked like a house that had been abandoned two decades ago.

As day darkened into night, the shadows stretched and distorted. Colors desaturated into grays, black and white facsimiles of what things should be. It all looked wrong, felt wrong- like someone had taken the house and gouged it out, every shadow deeper than before. 

_Now_  it looked like somewhere for ghosts to spend their time fucking with people. 

Entering the house in the dark felt like an intrusion. The house was abandoned, but there were signs of people still. Remnants, really- ranging from a child's toy on the ground to graffiti claiming ‘shane was here!!!’. They weren’t the same objects and fragments as they when the blood spilled years ago, but as Jeremy pointed out where certain crime scene photos had been taken, it was hard to tell the difference. It was as if the house had never quite been scrubbed clean of its history. Every shadow looked like a bloodstain. Every out-of-place object seemed like the result of a struggle. Every movement felt like the echo of long ago violence.

 

"Hello boys!"

"Trevor, stop calling the ghosts boys."

"But they're my boys!"

"Trevor, you are going to get murdered."

"By you?"

"Probably."

They were attempting to establish communications, or at least get some sort of ghostly reaction. They had set themselves up in the kitchen; all their lights were off, the red blinking recording light all that was visible in the dark. Both had their eyes intently trained on the flashlight they had placed on the floor between them.

"Please give us a sign if you want us to leave."

There was a beat of silence, an inhuman stillness, a pause in breath- a flash of bright white light.

Jeremy jumped. 

"Ooh, that was spooky."

"Fuck you, that's your reaction?"

 "Well, it's not freaking my mind or anything."

"The light  _turned on_."

"Do you jump like that every time you operate a light switch?"

"I hate you."

Seeing as none of their further questions resulted in any more exciting light tricks, they moved on.

 

(Off camera, Trevor pressed his shoulder to Jeremy's. Despite his mostly fake anger, Jeremy found himself leaning into the touch, grounding himself in the familiar feeling. _Fucking ghosts,_ he thought, _fucking lights_.

It wasn't until his shaky breath had evened out and his racing heart had slowed that he managed to move away from the reassuring contact and back into the house's unknown.)

 

Upstairs was by no means less creepy.

A normal bedroom- if the bed wasn't stained and sheetless, the pieces of a normal life scattered and scarce. It may not have been the crime scene as it once was, but it felt like it. 

"This is where the father's body was found. Trevor, if you even think about saying the word daddy-"

"I would never. A man was murdered here, Jeremy."

"Do not call him ghost daddy."

"I will not."

"Trevor."

"I promise to only refer to him with the utmost respect."

There was a moment where neither of them spoke.

 “Dear Ghost Father-“ Jeremy groaned as a pleased grin grew on Trevor's face, “if you are here, please show us a sign of your dadliness.”

“Please crush his skull with your ghost hands.”

“Please crush my skull with your  _fatherly_  ghost hands.”

Jeremy was still wary after the kitchen incident, but not scared enough to _not_ join in with Trevor's nonsense. Despite their creative taunts and questionable requests, all they got was an unidentifiable noise on their voice recorder.

 

"It's a voice."

"It is not a voice."

"It could be a voice."

"It could _not_ be a voice."

"You can be a fucker."

"I can _not_ be a fucker-"

"Now that's just not true."

 

The only place left to go was down.

The basement was, as Jeremy called it, some "Resident Evil type fucking bullshit just like the rest of this shitty house". It was a mess of debris- personal items deemed not important enough, miscellaneous construction bits, anything and everything that had ever broken in the house. All of it was thrown about precariously.

They stepped through as carefully as they could, taking the closest thing to a path they could find. Still, amongst the regular creaks of the house, there was a sudden knocking, a series of falls, a crack-

"Oh  _ass_ -"

"What the fuck was  _that_ -"

Things moved.

 

“You have a bruise from that thing.”

“Eh, it’s fine.”

“A ghost tried to _attack_ you and you’re-”

“A board fell over and gave me a little boo-boo. It’s not like Danny Phantom punched me in the face.”

Jeremy put his hands on the table and leaned forward, groaning.

“You could have axe-kicked that board. You could _not_ have axe-kicked a ghost, even if one was there.”

 

(Jeremy pulled down the collar of Trevor’s shirt to inspect the bruise. The area was already red, but there was no broken skin, no blood. “You sure you’re okay?” “I promise, I’m fine.” “Want me to run out and get some ice?” “I’m not letting you leave the house _that_ easily.” “It was worth a shot,” Jeremy returned, relieved.)

 

They had decided to spend the night in the house, a decision Jeremy was clearly regretting as he glared at the living room floor. Despite Trevor’s repeated assurances that 8th graders in the area did it all the time, he didn’t seem comforted.

"You knowI'm a light sleeper. A breeze wakes me up, let alone a fucking ghost fucking with me."

"I'll protect you."

"No you won't, you'll fucking fuck with me all night. You shit."

"As if you haven't done the same thing."

"That's not the fucking point here, Trevor."

Despite Jeremy's resistance, they managed to settle down on the floor, looking for all the world like they were camping and the once murder scene was their tent. 

The greenscale timelapse passed by. Jeremy tossed and turned in his sleeplessness, minutes ticking on. Things groaned and cracked, the house and whatever potentially occupied it making themselves known. 

At 3:02, a series of sounds creaked from the ceiling, phantom footsteps.

Jeremy sat straight up, scrambling for a flashlight; Trevor swatted at his arm. 

"It's just architectural bullshit, don't worry."

"Of course you can say that, you’re asleep-"

"If only.”

"There's fucking ghosts here, Trevor."

"There's  _shitty wood_  here, Jeremy."

Jeremy reluctantly laid back down, but scooted closer to Trevor's sleeping bag.

 

(Carefully, Jeremy slid his hand between them to where Trevor's was on the floor, keeping it out of view of the camera. He interlaced their fingers and gave one quick squeeze. Trevor returned it reassuringly, shifting himself slightly closer.

Jeremy fell asleep, grin hidden in his pillow.)

 

The hours flickered by into morning, the shadows of the house giving way to early morning light. All the stains of night were washed away, the mundane truth of the house revealed.

The novelty of the haunting was gone. All that was left was the tragedy, the all too real story of what had happened. There might not be ghosts, but people were still dead. The house felt less spooky and more sad, any phantom just a memory of the family trying not to be forgotten.

They left, part victorious and part melancholy, mostly exhausted. Trevor mindlessly straightened the curtains, Jeremy swept the disturbed dust back into place. As they left, they lingered a moment, standing in front of the same door that once-happy family had stood in front of.

Then they turned away, leaving whatever ghosts the house held to their own ghostly lives. 

 

Trevor was contorted in the passenger seat with one long leg bent against the window, drinking coffee and reaching out to readjust the shaky camera perched on the dashboard. Jeremy was behind the wheel, muttering under his breath about shitty drivers as he focused on his turn.

"Jeremy, we did it."

"Yes we fuckin' did, Trevor."

" _And_ we did it without any damage to the property."

"I only punched a wall _once_."

"Will you destroy any structures in our next video?"

"Comment below, let me know if you want me to fuck up the structural integrity of a significant historical site."

 

("Ready to go home, Jeremy?" "I am really looking forward to sleeping in a bed-" "Coming from a man who has slept in a bathtub-" Trevor interrupted. Jeremy kept on, undeterred, "And  _also_  looking forward to sleeping in the same bed as my boyfriend," "Oh yeah?" A smirk. "Yeah. He's this tall, lanky, irritating fucker. You might know him." "I think I might. I'll bet he's looking forward to the bed thing too."

Trevor grinned into his next sip of coffee as their hands met on the console, fingers intertwining automatically.

He may as well have been home already.)

 

Trevor read off his phone, empty coffee cup discarded.

"Here's a reasonable comment on our last video- 'Question: do either of you actually believe in ghosts, or are you just fucking around?'"

"Answer: not _really_. Unless I'm alone, in which case fucking everything is ghosts."

"What if you're with me?"

"I'm not 100% that  _you're_  not some kind of fuckin' poltergeist just following me around."

"Fair point."

"What about you?"

"Who knows?"

"Good answer."

"Still waiting on that classic paranormal Ghost Adventures Zak Bagans verified ghost experience."

"Don't promote  _their_  ghost show."

They smiled at each other, eyes crinkled and fond, as they drove off, this particular haunting fading to black.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr also exists at [attaboytrevor](https://attaboytrevor.tumblr.com/). feel free to message me as you please  
> (title is from 'evil eye' - franz ferdinand)


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